Trashy Thoughts

I forgot to put the trash can out yesterday evening, so I have to wait until there is enough light to put it out this morning. Also, the neighbors get grumpy if I put it out too early, since the cans have to be carted along a gravel path a few feet from their house, which cannot be done quietly. I'd like to cut down on trash production, so I'd only have to put the can out every other week, (though we'd still end up paying the same price for collection) but so far I've been unable to reduce it that much. I recycle or reuse everything possible, and mulch organic waste, and all that stuff, but there is still too much trash. I think it multiplies while I'm not looking.

I remember when I was a kid and we had a garbage can -- one of those small ones such as you sometimes see in old movies -- and every week it would be lined with newspaper and then filled with garbage all week long, until it stank of decay and swarmed with flies. Then it would be placed at the curb, along with the box of empty tin cans and unreturnable bottles, but there was no paper waste, because that was all burned in the backyard incinerator. The garbage and cans and bottles would be hauled off by the guys who were still in those days called garbage men. Then, the can would be washed to reduce its malevolent odor, given a new lining of newspaper, and the process of accumulation begun again.

These memories make me realize that I have been surrounded by trash all my life. I wonder how many tons of it I have produced? Much of it must still be rotting away in the landfill in Monterey Park, and will continue to do so long after I am dead. I'm not sure that I like the idea of my trash outlasting me. I guess that's the problem with being from a rich society. As they say, you can't take it with you.

This is certainly an odd rantlet to have gone off onto! I must remember to remember to put the can out in the evening next week, so I won't end up with such thoughts again. This morning, I seem to have no others. I can note that it is still cold, and a bit less foggy than last night, and there have been no deer visiting, and that's about it. It's almost light enough to be about it, now, so off I go. I hope I don't end up dreaming about trash collection today.

Bright

Greeted by an improbably bright afternoon, I almost forgot the season until I opened the window to cold air. Later, I saw that three small flowers had blossomed on the sourgrass by the front door, and a distinct line of bright red has appeared in one of the camellia buds. The sky was alive with birds flitting from tree to tree. The puffs of white cloud which then decorated the blue have now dissipated, and the clumps of brown needles on the pines are burnished copper in evening rays of sun. The birds now twitter and swoop over the green lawns. After an hour of gusting breezes, the air has fallen still. If it were not for the bare branches and twigs of the oaks traced against the darkening sky, the evening would have the look of spring. But many weeks of anticipation lie ahead before that season arrives, and there could yet be furious winter storms and snowfalls to blight the grass and nip the camellias in the bud. Winter merely toys with us on these milder days it sometimes brings. I'm keeping the extra blankets handy.